"As if I were your wife."

Jimmy's eyes flashed. Somehow, it sounded wonderfully sweet, coming from
her lips, and all his caution, all his Grierson traditions, seemed to
slip from him suddenly. He stood up, very straight, facing her.

"My wife," he said in a low voice. "My wife. Will you be my wife,
Lalage?"

The girl turned white, and her hand went to her throat, as though she
were choking, then she looked away, staring into the fire, whilst he
watched her, waiting for her answer with almost pitiful anxiety.

"Dearest," she began at last, "it's very sweet of you----" Then she
paused again, as though searching for the words, which came to her at
last. "Jimmy, dearest, do you really mean it? Remember, you've only
known me quite a little time, and you can't be sure of me yet. Can you?
You see, if you made a mistake it would spoil your whole life. It means
so much to you."

"And what does it mean to you?" he asked, thickly.

"Everything," she answered, simply. "But then, I've spoilt my life
already, and I mustn't spoil yours too."

"You wouldn't spoil it. You, know that as well as I do. You would give
me something to work for, make me keep up to the mark." He was
thoroughly in earnest now, carried away by the fear of losing her. He
walked up and down the room a couple of times, then stopped in front of
her. "Lalage," he asked, very quietly, "do you love me?"

The girl nodded, without looking up.

"Then will you marry me?" He said it deliberately. She clenched her
hands, but answered nothing, till he repeated his question, then she
faced him, white-lipped and wild-eyed.

"God forgive me for saying it--yes. But not yet, Jimmy, not yet," and
without allowing him to kiss her, she jumped up and ran into the other
room, shutting the door behind her.

Jimmy walked down to the club that day, not from reasons of
economy--there was still some of the _Record_ money left--but because he
wanted to think matters over, quietly and deliberately. He was conscious
of an unwonted sense of elation--Lalage was to be his, definitely and
finally, so that they could face the world openly, with none of this
miserable business of subterfuge and bogus address; no one would know of
the past. And then, suddenly, he went cold at the thought of the family
inquisition, and the falsehoods he would have to tell; whilst, even if
the latter were not detected, his people would never forgive him for
marrying a stranger, never agree to his marriage